Page 37 of Hot Streak

“Tomorrow,” Connor said heavily. “We’re gonna be in the same room. Alone.”

“Exactly.” He could practically see Tristan’s shit-eating grin.

“I know you two uh . . .hooked up when you were roomies at training camp,” Connor said.

“You mean, fell into bed and fell wildly, madly in love?” Tristan asked. “Yep, we sure did. Doesn’t mean it’ll end that same way for you two.”

“I’m definitely not looking to fall in love,” Connor said hurriedly. “I don’t think I even know what that feels like. Or that I want to know what that feels like. I just want to—”

“Scratch that itch,” Tristan said knowingly.

God, reducing it to that, even though that was regularly what Connor did, felt weird and wrong.

But also right.

So fucking right.

“Okay, fine. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“It’s a big step. I don’t know. I don’t want to rush into it.”

“I get it. You want to watch some gay porn first. Make sure your skills and knowledge are up to par.”

Connor choked on air. Because sure, yes, he’d had that thought. Not acted on it yet, but had it, yes. “No. No. I just . . .want to be sure, that’s all. Not necessarily sure of him. But sure of me. More than anything. Maybe I ate something weird, or I’m off, because he throws me off. I don’t know.”

“You didn’t eat something weird,” Tristan said, his voice softening. “You know you didn’t. But it’s okay. You can take your time.” He paused, and his tone shifted gears into amusement. “Honestly, that’ll only make it hotter, when it does happen. All that repressed sexual tension . . .”

“Tristan,” Connor warned.

“I’m just saying. And you’ll get plenty of opportunities to ratchet it up nice and hot.”

Connor sighed. The fact that they’d be sharing a room had hit him hard when he’d gotten back to his apartment last night and seen his open suitcase on the floor, half-packed for their upcoming road trip.

He wouldn’t be able to hide from this. Maybe wouldn’t be able to hide it from Jackson, either.

“Whatever happens, you know I’m here,” Tristan said.

“Thanks,” Connor said, meaning it.

“I gotta run,” Tristan said, “we’ve got an early meeting, but seriously, if you freak out, because it might happen, text me. Call me.”

“I’m not going to freak out,” Connor grumbled. Except he might.

“Okay,” Tristan said kindly.

He hung up, and Connor turned over in the bed. His conversation with Tristan hadn’t entirely banished the fizzy remnants of his dream, and he still felt a low level of arousal burning through his system. But he knew if he touched his dick now, he’d think of Jackson.

And he wasn’t quite ready for that. Not yet.

A second later, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Tristan.

Is Jackson’s last name Evans?

Connor replied with trepidation. Yes. Why?

Because you’re right, he’s OMG, YES, DADDY PLEASE WRECK ME hot.

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